


The pain you caused

by raveninthemoonlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bad Parenting, F/M, First Love, Fluff, Hurt, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Pre series, Smut, Violence, selfharm, teenage love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 03:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14369751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raveninthemoonlight/pseuds/raveninthemoonlight
Summary: In a summer night, Dean fell in love with his little Sammy. But he quickly learned, that he wasn't worth more, than a quick fuck- especially to his father. When they took on a case in Elizabethville, it didn't seem to be more strange than their usual work. But the small town threatened to grip their dirty secrets thighs and hurl them up from the dark waters of the Winchester family. Will their dainty balance hold or crash and burn under the pressure of love and hurt?





	The pain you caused

Living in tiny motel rooms most of their lives, Dean and Sam were always close. There was no way they couldn't be. When John was hunting, leaving them alone, they depended on each other. Dean always felt responsible for his younger brother, even as he grew up to be bigger and stronger than him. Every night the older brother tugged Sammy in and held his hand until he fell asleep. When Sam reached puberty, it stopped. New urges awakened within the brothers, and none of them talked about it. Feelings were for the weak, John used to say, so they swallowed it down. In the most places they stayed, there wasn't enough space for the two of them to have their own bed. This time, there was. Like always, when their father decided to not give them a break.

In this rainy night, Dean wasn't able to fall asleep. The thoughts racing through his head wouldn't let him rest. Sammy had a girlfriend now. Everything seemed so meaningless, given the fact, that his baby brother didn't only belong to him anymore. Not that he ever had. No matter how clearly he knew how wrong his feelings were, nothing could make them fade. The usual fucking every girl he met, drinking till unconsciousness and playing it cool wasn't enough. The boys relationship wouldn't last long. As soon as their dad was done with the case, they would move, another town, another school, another dirty motel. Like always. "Sammy will be heartbroken. She's his first girl. His first kiss. And he has to leave her..", Dean whispered into the darkness. Deep inside, he knew he could give him all the kisses this girl couldn't, all the attention he would never get from John and he could fuck his brains out, like no one else. Especially the last part was thrilling. Hunters didn't live a normal or socially acceptable life. At the age of 16, Sam had been robbed of his innocence, he had to lie to everyone he met, and became scary good at it, there was no place to come home to or even call home any more. Every hunt was a new trauma. Everyday a new hell. But even for a hunter, being in love with your brother, was wrong. But what scared the older one even more, than how emotionally scarred Sammy was at this point, were the things he would do to the kid if he got the chance. Whenever he walked in on the little one showering, he couldn't help but stare. Everybody would, because all the baby fat melted away, and was replaced with defined muscles and visible bones. For his age he was still a bit lanky, but considering the growth spurt he made over the last two years it was completely normal. At first Dean tried to convince himself that he just found his brother to be aesthetically pleasing, in a platonic way of course. But everytime that Sam stripped down in the middle of the room to go to bed, the older one had to turn away to avoid showing his blushed cheeks and boner. Every single time he had sex, the moment he was cumming, the word that rolled of his lips, together with the half assed moans, was 'Sammy'. Slowly but steady, the self hatred started to eat Dean up, consumed his whole existence and personality. It distracted him from everything he did. Hunting didn't seem that important anymore. Nothing could be as important as his brother.

In the room next door, Sam laid awake as well. But the thing that was keeping him up, was fear. He was scared, his dad could come home, drunk. Bruises all over his ribs and stomach were silent witnesses of what happened. Of the punches that were thrown at his skinny body, that felt so sore. A single tear on his cheek turned into a stream of salty regret. If he didn't pull away, if he would have just played along, this wouldn't have happened. All the pain he physically felt was nothing, compared to how helpless he felt. John forbid him from telling anybody, threatened to kill him and sent him off to hell if he did. That was unnecessary, Sam felt too dirty and guilty to talk about it anyway. Not even his older brother knew, and usually they talked about everything. Lately, the younger one tried to establish a bit of distance between them, owing to the fact that he felt like it was his own fault. Thunder growled in the distance, lightning struck through the black sky. Rain fell against the old windows and the uncomfortable bed crunched under the younger Winchester, while he pulled the sweaty sheets closer, trying to hide from the shadows in his room. Right now, he only wanted to get into his brothers' bed, climb under the blanket with him. Feel the warmth and comfort, feel safe for the moment. Safety was something that never really was a part of his life since he had been six months old. At first he thought what his father was doing was love, but when he started to question it, every bit of illusion broke. Dean always tried to protect Sam, he did everything he could. One time, he beat up a kid because they called his baby brother ugly. But Dean was different than Sammy. Popular and beautiful, strong and.. Just the thought of the one time he saw him naked gave Sam goosebumps and a hard one. Nothing could hurt him, as long as his older brother was by his side. But in those nights, Dean wasn't there. He was out sleeping with some girl he met in a bar, or passed out because he had too much to drink. In those night, he couldn't hear Sammy crying or his dad moaning, and the next day, Sam hid the bruises from him. There was no way the older Winchester could know what was happening, otherwise he would have ripped his fathers lungs out. While the thunderstorm raged outside, he left his bed and unzipped his duffle bag searching for the blade. Cold steel laid between his long slick fingers as he took it. The cutting edge blinked in the moonlight sparkling through the dark clouds in the sky. Automatically he placed it on his upper thigh and added another cut to the open wounds that were already on it. It cut easily through the soft flesh, leaving a white mark in it, that quickly filled itself with warm, red blood. For a second, Sam felt alive. Way too fast, the adrenaline had left his body again, and he started over. One cut turned into two, three, four and eventually he stopped counting. 'Why don't you just slice your wrist open and finally kill yourself? It's not like you deserve to be happy anyway. And you won't be. Dean hates you. It's only your fault', whispered the voice in his head, along with the echoing voices of the words of hatred he heard over the years. 'Faggot!' 'Useless!' 'Worthless!' 'Slut!' 'Painted fairy whore!' Shaking he put the razor blade up on his wrist. Not like Dean would miss him. Not like anyone would care. In this dark night, somewhere in a motel in Ohio, Sam Winchester was ready to end his own life. Blood was dripping from his exposed thighs onto the floor. Just as he was about to cut the vein on his left wrist, a door slammed. Dad was home. Basically, the alcohol was wandering through all rooms. Without thinking twice, Sam hid his blade, wiped every bit of dark red liquid of the floor with a dirty shirt. Then he slipped back in his bed. Maybe if he could convince him that he was asleep, he could escape, maybe if he.. His door was smashed open, and the boy knew, that there was no reason to hope, tonight would be any better than the other nights. The only thing he could do, was being quiet to avoid waking Dean up, and just being submissive to make it end. Tears streaming down his face, he curled up in a fetal position. "Get up bitch, I know you're not sleeping!", John yelled, and Sam did like he told him, keeping his head down, avoiding eye contact.  
"Oh you've been cutting again. Well, not that your ugly body is worth anything.", his dad spit out. The 16 year old would love to blame it on the alcohol, to just believe that this wasn't real, just drunken rage or a bad nightmare. Grey sweatpants that once belonged to Dean were stained with dark spots of blood, that grew larger. Unable to control himself, Sam started shaking, with all the pain pressing down on his chest. Without a warning, he got smacked in the face. It burned, and brought him back to reality. This wasn't a dream. Unless Dean was around, his dad was just as bad as now when he was sober. Over the years he learned to space out, while his body was being touched, in all the wrong places. Focusing on the loud wind outside, everything went numb, just a pain from far away, still shooting in his heart and breaking it, all over again. Because he didn't answer to the insults, his father smacked him across the face, leaving a bruise, kicked him in the stomach and left bite marks, resembling hickeys on his collar bones. Tears started running again, as John forced him to his knees. Sam couldn't pull away, he was too weak and too worn out. His dad wasn't satisfied with what he got with pushing his cock down Sam's throat. So he threw him on the bed, ripping away the sweat pants and exposing his ass. In silence, Sammy prayed for an angel to save him, to come and take this monster away. Nothing would make it stop. Trying to be as quiet as possible while he whimpered, but his dad heard it anyway. Violently, he scratched his sons back, leaving trails of little blood drops and bruises. Some the size of a grape, some were bigger, from last night. As he thrusted into Sammy he moaned, not holding anything back or caring about the pain and discomfort, of the small, tense body under his own. It only lasted for a few minutes, but for the bottom one it felt like an eternity. During his dad cumming inside him, he felt nothing. Even as his door was forcefully shut again, he didn't bother to get up and clean himself. Not the slightest bit of arousal, just pain and broken trust pulsed through his body. Trying to not make himself ache with every move, he sunk back into the mattress. All of this was too much to bear. Slowly he curled up, naked, afraid and crying, slowly sinking into a light sleep, filled with nightmares. Sam didn't bother to clean himself up.

Dean smelt alcohol. So his dad came back and had been drinking a little bit too much. Oh hopefully he didn't drive under the influence of this legal drug, Dean would be heartbroken if something happened to their '67 Impala, John took for the night. Lately his dad came home drunk more frequently. Maybe that was something to worry about. Still sunken in his thoughts, Dean almost managed to ignore the yelling from the other room, which got more frequent as well. Probably Sam didn't do well on a class test again or something like that. That was the rational explanation Dean wanted to believe in. But Sam never not aced an exam. The walls weren't thick but just thin enough to not let Dean understand any words. A few minutes later, his brother whimpered, silently, and it broke his heart. He hated himself. The reflection in the window was blurred by the rain drops sliding down the glass, but it was still clearly him. Green, broken eyes, and so endlessly useless. The room smelt like old wood and forest. It was a familiar smell, that also clung to Bobby's house. But this place didn't feel as safe at the house did. There was no fireplace, no whiskey and no mountains of books. A door was thrown into its frame. John stumped out of Sammy's room and Dean felt the urge to go over, and wrap his arms around his brother. Like when they were little, in the cold winters, they spent on the backseat of the Impala somewhere in the middle of nowhere, under some blankets, trying to trap a little body heat. Those were happy days, compared to the situation they were in now. Sometimes Dean wondered if Sam knew what a selfish dick he was. That he heard him cry and pray every night, but was not able to help. Every now and then Dean remembered the girl. She had cute gray eyes, was pale and never really caught anyones attention. Not in a single class, did she pay attention, but somehow still managed to get straight A's. Maybe that was the reason the teachers always let her sketch in every lesson. He didn't even remember her name, like everybody else. Until she didn't show up for class one morning. If anyone had ever bothered to look at the drawings and poems in her black book, maybe they would have seen the desperation and pain behind them. The teacher came in, and explained, that she killed herself. No explanation. But from the bruises he saw, when she got up or in gym class, he could tell that she had been abused. It could have been stopped. It was around the time, Dean started to wear long sleeves and change in the bathroom instead of with the other boys to hide the bruises John left on him. Around the time, he felt sore and hurt every day. She could have been saved. And deep inside, Dean knew that that was the same destiny Sam was headed to. In the back of his head the suspicion that something was off between his father and brother had been chasing him for quite a long time. Dean had noticed the bruises and hickey like bite marks on his brother. First he just got jealous because someone else got to claim Sam, but it didn't change when they went to the next town, and the one after that. Without a chance to protect his brother from the abuse, Dean had to watch him suffer, and when the pale moonlight peeked through the windows, and he was able to see everything in the room, he starred at his hands.  
His guts clenched with disgust. As if his hands were the ones, touching Sammy the wrong way. As if his hips were the ones, grinding against the skinny body with only his own pleasure in mind. As if he was the monster, his father had turned into, long before Sam was old enough. But in nights with a new moon, just filled with absolute darkness, he felt even worse. Because when there was nothing visual to hate and focus on, he could hear the whining, the begging, the slaps and the tension from next door. Wrapping his nails around and forcing them into his own wrist, he tried to not scream, get in the other room and shoot his dad. In those moments Sam could have asked for anything, Dean would have willingly sold his soul for him, and sometimes he hoped for Sam to cry out his name so he could save him. When Sam couldn't sit right in the backseat, or his father was groping his thigh under the table in some diner, when he thought Dean wouldn't notice, the guilt poured over him. Why wasn't he fighting for, saving and protecting Sammy? For once, he should be the good guy. Since he was 20, he could run away. But Sam had to go to school, was only 16. Both of them knew, they couldn't gather the money to survive on their own anyway. "Just two more years", Dean kept telling himself. Then Sammy could get away. In reality, he was aware that he was just a giant coward. Not as brave and fearless as his brother saw him or as he wanted to be. And that had to change. When it was just him who had to deal with the abuse he could deal with it. Sure, it scarred and traumatized him but that didn't even remotely matter as long as Sam was save. Just a few years later, his body became unbearably ugly, even in Johns eyes. So his attention targeted on little Sammy. No matter the instances, Dean always knew that he wasn't enough and how worthless he was. But watching his brother ache because of him broke the last straw. His world turned into a mixture of alcohol, grey fog and killing monsters. Drowning out the feelings in poison was his fathers way of doing things, and Dean saw where it led. Still, he knew that there was no other way for him. All the hate in his stomach, first aimed against his father, but there was no way Dean could express it, couldn't speak up, because he had to avoid being beaten to death, for Sams sake. Not soon after that realization, it twisted agains himself. Knowing that he couldn't start cutting, because he didn't want to be that bad of a role model for his little brother, he looked for other ways of self destruction. Drinking, smoking, everything that could make him feel a sting in his inappreciable body, still making sure that Sam never caught him. Silently, he threw every razorblade he found, out of Sams duffle bag, but he knew he couldn't stop the kid, and Dean couldn't blame Sam. It was the same thing he wanted to do. Cut open his arms, making the ruby red blood pour out of it, as he felt the very life fading away..

The next morning, nothing was different. They drove in silence, while Metallica was blasting through the car, making it vibrate what caused Sam to shift uncomfortably. His whole body, especially his ass, felt sore and hurt from last night. He felt Deans eyes lingered on him, and he tried to sit still, solicitous to not make him suspicious. The last thing he wanted to happen was both of his alive family members to hate him and find him disgusting. In Deans green eyes, Sam could get lost watching them or trying to count the freckles on the perfect nose and chiseled out jaw line, there was an emotion he couldn't quite name. Loneliness? Dread? Maybe a tiny bit love and lust? 'No', he determined fast, trying to keep himself from blushing, 'I imagined that. Dean would never want someone like me. Someone so dirty.' Somewhere out of the frame he cared about, he could hear John talking, about some case, and handing police files in yellow envelopes to the back of the car. Precise, strong but still fine fingers grabbed them and he tried to not look at them. Deans fingers were so graceful and Sam wondered what they would feel like, tracing the outlines of his body, cupping his face. Stop. The envelopes. Focus. Find the pattern in the crimes. But there was no pattern to be discovered. If he wasn't so tired, if he didn't just slept for about three hours between sobbing or waking up, covered in sweat he would be surely able to do so. Well, that wasn't the case. There was nothing to keep him asleep in the nights. Nothing that made him feel safe enough to sleep.

It wasn't exactly an easy case they were heading to. Still, it was hard for Dean to listen, the main part of his attention still focused on his little brother. The story his dad told wasn't just a salt and burn, even though the whole thing had some components that pointed towards a ghost. There had been three victims so far, no survivors. Looking through the police files, Sam and Dean noticed, that the people who died had hardly anything in common. One of them caught Deans eye, Kira Adams. The picture in her file was beautiful. A young woman, red hair and green eyes full of life and energy. Being the only female victim, she fell out off line. Her record was clear, too clear. "Hey dad, let's talk to her family first. I can't shake the feeling, that there is something.. Odd about her.", Dean suggested and John nodded. He trusted his oldest sons intuition when it came to hunting. "Sam, we'll drop you off at your new school and start the investigation. After that, Dean is gonna pick you up.", John announced. It wasn't a plan or suggestion, it was an order.  
"Yes sir", Sam whispered, almost voiceless. His throat still hurt. As the car drove past the trees on the side of the road, Dean fell into a void, trying to ignore the hangover that kept a sharp pain in his brain. Long hours on the road in the Impala were almost worse than the nights in the motels. Not only did it feel wrong to expose his baby brother to the presence of his father, but Deans guts also twisted when he thought about the fact that John was driving baby. His baby. Dawn settled in, painting the sky red and yellow with hints of peach. 'How ironic' Dean thought as he heard Sams breath steady out again. 'Such an ugly world. This world is so cruel, it doesn't deserve someone as precious and as beautiful as Sammy.' Even when he was almost laying in the car, catching up on some much needed sleep, he was handsome, looked like a work of art. Yet, without the pressure to please everyone around him, he looked so much younger and smaller. Dark circles under his eyes showed clearly against the now pale skin. Dean could still remember the way his brownish green eyes sparkled when he was younger. He used to run around, collecting things, so full of energy and hunger for knowledge, always fighting, never giving up and constantly standing back up when he fell down. Now, his spirit seemed broken. Long brown hair fell into his closed eyes like a curtain, shielding him from the sunlight and reality. A little muffle escaped his chapped lips and Dean felt like he could stare at him forever. Unfortunately it wasn't forever. Their father smashed his foot on the break and Sam woke up. No goodbye's were said, no hugs and no 'Good luck' for the new school. They never stayed for long anywhere. One or two months at most. Changing schools every few weeks became so common that they didn't mind it anymore. Dean got his GED, but he knew that he would never amount to anything more than living on the road, haunting monsters and dying with a gun in his hand. Well, maybe he wouldn't be lucky enough to die like a soldier. Sam, however was different. He was smart, wanted to go to college and major in law. The nagging voice in the back of Deans mind reminded him, that his baby brothers dreams would probably be brutally shattered by his father as soon as Sam finished high school. Taking his warmth with him, Sam left the car and stumbled in the direction of a grey building. While Dean climbed into the front seat, his father set the Impala into drive again. "So, where do we start?", he asked, trying to hide how uncomfortable he was.  
"At the Adams's house." his father answered. Sometimes Dean liked to imagine, that somewhere deep buried in his dad, there was still some fatherly love left. He tried to shift into his seat, as far away from John as possible. For a second, Dean thought about offering himself as a sacrifice, letting his dad use his body, to keep Sam save, at least for one night. It was a bad idea to begin with, and thinking about it, he figured that the older man would have said no anyway. And Sam would have had to suffer for his brother being so overweening. There was no way, Dean would risk that. Trying to focus back on the case, he figured one thing out: All of the victims lived with a sibling. Coincidence? What felt like hours later, they arrived at a house, that didn't seem different than any other on the streets of Elizabethville, Ohio. Slowly, they approached the door, and knocked. A young woman opened. Her short brown hair was half pulled up and she wore a black flannel. "Hey", she said without a smile. "Hello", John chimed in, "We are from the FBI, Special-Agents Stark and Bane. Could we ask you a few things about your sister?", they flashed their fake badges, and put them away again before she could take a close enough look. Her expression grew even colder. "I told the police everything I know.", blue eyes pierced through them. "Ma'am I now, but please, just a few minutes. I promise, just routine questions.", Dean added and smiled calming. Nodding slightly, she stepped aside to let the two in. After they friendly declined her offer of water, she sat them down in the living room. The room was completely normal. "How did your sister die, Miss Adams?", John asked. The woman took a deep breath. "I don't know. The police said, she went into cardiac arrest, but she was healthy. I just don't..", a tear roamed over her cheek,  
"I just don't get it. In the morning, when she didn't come down for breakfast, I went to her room.. And she layed there, eyes open, and.. dead..", her voice faded out. "And was there anything unusual in the days before she passed away? Maybe.. Cold spots in the house?", Dean asked. She shook her head, "Why would that be important?" Maybe it wasn't a ghost after all, or maybe not even a job for hunters.  
"And did she behave different? Scared for example? Or did she have any enemies?", his father interfered with his train of thoughts. Again, she shook her head. "No. If there was something that scared her, she would have told me. And everybody loved her." Still, something seemed different. Like she was acting. "Would you maybe allow us, to look around here a little?" Dean added politely. "Well.. If you have to. I'll be in the garden.", she said and headed outside. She looked like she was fleeing the room.

The whole house seemed perfectly normal. Everything was clean and the drawers had a neat structure. They spared the basement for the end. Behind the white door, it seemed like it was an entirely different world. Only seven steps made their way down in utter and complete darkness. Slowly approaching, Dean and John could feel danger, their trained senses detected the waves of tension. Water splashed in their faces, and Dean jumped. John only jerked his head a little and wiped it out of his eyes.  
"The fuck..", the younger one whispered under his breath.  
"I'm sorry, I had to be sure. Well come on in, gentlemen.", the young women they talked to and that opened the door appeared out of seemingly nowhere, holding a bottle of holy water. She changed her flannel against a black shirt and a leather jacket. Without saying a word, she led them deeper into the darkness and let a lightbulb flicker on. Guns and knives covered most of the walls. A realization struck Dean like a lightning. "Are you.. Are you a hunter?", he gasped out. "Yeah sweetheart. And you're definitely not from the FBI.", she answered. His dad jumped in to introduce them.  
"My name is John Winchester, this is my son Dean. We're here because we heard about the thing that killed your sister."  
She sighed, her body tensed up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading until here! I will keep the tags updated, as I progress writing, with new warnings. This work also does not have a beta-reader, so all mistakes are mine. Comments are my fuel, so please leave one. Have a great day <3


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